by Jordan Marie
“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Stop cursing me.”
“Then tell me why you didn’t answer your damned phone!”
“I told you! I didn’t want to!”
“That’s not a real reason.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“Then you better come up with another one real soon, Buttercup.”
“Or what? You’ll break one of my windows? You’re fixing that door, White Hall! I am not calling my landlord to fix your stupidity.”
“Kayla, I’m warning you.”
“White, I’m ignoring you.”
“Tell me now or I’ll paddle that ass red.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“One.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Two.”
“Two,” she mocks.
“That’s it,” I snap. I’m angry, worried, and in no mood for her childish behavior. It doesn’t help matters that she’s standing there looking defiant and wearing these cute freaking pajamas. The bottoms are black with little milkshakes all over them and the white top has two very strategically placed milkshakes with whip cream and cherries on them with the words “My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard” written on them. Her hair is all pulled up on top of her head and she doesn’t have a bit of makeup on. She looks adorable and sexy at the same time. She looks like she just crawled out of bed and she definitely looks like I need to throw her back in bed and tame her sassy fucking mouth—and her body.
Where are all these feelings coming from with Kayla? It’s driving me crazy. Which explains why I’m acting like a nut now, one who went as far as to break her door down. It’s her fault! She’d driving me to it!
I march towards her. There can’t be a doubt about my intent. I’m sure my face is broadcasting it with each step I take. As I watch her back away from me—I’m sure of it. She puts her hands up to ward me off, panic now replacing the anger on her face. Strangely enough this knot that has me tangled up inside since I heard about Kayla’s engagement starts to loosen. I take another step to her, cornering her between me and the sofa. Her body sways, but she manages to stay upright. It’s enough to show me however that she’s not wearing a bra under that t-shirt. Kayla’s curvy, and her breasts are easily a D cup. Watching her right now, I’d say closer to DD, and I’m definitely watching. When the nipples poke against the shirt, pebbled and hard, I watch even closer. My dick jerks, expanding and pushing against my jeans in reaction. Fuck. How have I not noticed what a rocking little body she has?
I’m only human, so my reaction doesn’t surprise me as much as her body’s reaction to me. She wants me. Knowing she’s turned on by me is a big fucking surprise… and something I find I… like. A hell of a lot.
“What are you doing?” she cries, panicked. I don’t reply. “White, this is crazy. You’re being crazy! Stop it!” Her cries only become louder as I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, ignoring the pain that causes. She pulls and tugs, trying to get away from me. That’s not about to happen. I’m too focused, too determined. I sit down, pulling her into my lap. Having Kayla’s body in my arms sends instant electricity through me. I feel heat and need in a way I’ve never experienced before. My plan was to slap that ass red and leave my handprint on it, but something happens when I gather her up like this. Even fighting me, her body tends to curve into mine. She fills my hands so perfectly that it eases that knot inside of me a little more. She feels… right—like she was meant to be in my arms.
“Kayla…”
“Let me go, White,” she says, though she’s not yelling now. Is it my imagination, or is her body relaxing against me? God, she feels so good… soft. Does she sense it too? I can’t be the only one here to realize how well we fit together.
“First, tell me what’s wrong. Why are you mad at me?” I ask her. Did she catch the fact that my hand squeezed her hip extra tight, or that my fingers drifted against her ass a little too long?
“Tommy and I broke up,” she huffs, not looking at me, but her ass moves against my lap and my dick literally cries.
“Good.”
“That’s not good, you asshole, and it’s all your fault!”
I squeeze her hip again, this time letting my fingers bite into the juicy mound of her ass. “If you don’t stop moving Kayla, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens next.”
“What happens next?” she asks, sounding confused.
“I know we’re friends, Buttercup, but I’m a man and I can only take so much wiggling around on my cock before I act on what you’re offering.”
“What I’m…? But I’m not offering!” she whispers, her face filling with heat.
“That’s a damn shame too,” I tell her without thinking. These new feelings concerning Kayla are fucking with me. “Now tell me how you breaking up with that asshole is my fault?”
“You pushed me into telling him I wanted the wedding at Ida Sue’s.”
“So? It’s what you wanted.”
“Maybe so, but I should have thought about what Tommy wanted too, and now the wedding is off!”
“You shouldn’t have ever gotten engaged to that asshole. He’s not good enough for you and if he’s stupid enough to let you go because you want to have your wedding at your home then good riddance to his sorry ass.”
“That’s easy for you to say! You’re missing the bigger picture here, White!”
“I don’t think so, but go ahead and explain it to me.”
“I’m thirty!”
“You aren’t thirty yet, and that’s not exactly news to me.”
“I want kids!”
“Again…”
“Oh, shut up! Tommy was my chance at having a family and a kid the old-fashioned way. I wanted that, White. You know yourself I’ve never had it.”
“Kayla, honey, you’re not sixty. You have time. And I can guarantee you that if you wait, someone better than fucking Tommy Haynes will come along.”
“Of course you’d say that. You’re a man-whore who doesn’t want kids, and the thought of a family terrifies you.”
“No. I’m saying that as your best friend and someone who loves you.”
“White.”
“Someone who knows that Tommy Haynes would make you miserable.”
“Will you let go of my ass now?” she sighs, and it’s then I realize that not only am I still holding her, but my hands are kneading her juicy flesh. I don’t particularly want to stop, but I force myself. I need to get out and clear my head, maybe even get laid, because holding Kayla like this and touching her has me hard as a fucking rock.
“If I must,” I tell her, trying to make a joke out of it, because the last thing I want to do is to stop touching her.
“You’re an asshole.”
“But you love me anyways.”
“On most days. You’re fixing my door and taking me out for breakfast.”
“I am?”
“It’s the least you can do for waking me up.”
“Okay, but while we’re out, I’m buying you a better lock.”
“You’re buying me Bavarian cream doughnuts from Caesar’s.”
“And better locks.”
“Whatever. I’m going to shower. Please make sure my door closes while I’m in there.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Kayla slides off my lap and walks away. For a minute I’m stuck watching her walk away. I’ve got some shit to work out here. How I never noticed how sexy she was before, for one. Why I really wanted her marriage to Tommy canceled is another. And as I hear the water to Kayla’s shower come on, I know there’s one more thing.
Why the fuck is my dick throbbing at the idea of seeing my best friend naked with water sliding down her body? I’m up and have taken three steps toward her bathroom be
fore I realize it and stop myself.
Shit just got more complicated.
CHAPTER 9
KAYLA
“We’re sorry, Ms. Graham, but surely you understand our position.”
“I understand you’re not even considering my application,” I tell the lady behind the desk at Cabinet for Child and Family Services.
“But we are. I’m just saying that for right now, there are many applications before yours that will take precedence.”
“All because those have two parents.”
“Listen, I’m sure you would make a great mother. But, there are guidelines and we have to make sure that each of these children have the best opportunities when they leave the facility.”
“But you have kids who aren’t even being considered for adoption. Surely they would be better in my home where I can give them housing, love, attention, and make sure they get every advantage I can physically make possible rather than stay in care of the state.”
“I’m not saying it won’t happen, Ms. Graham.”
“You’re just saying I have a better chance of winning the lottery than adopting a child.”
“I understand your frustration.”
“No. I don’t think you do,” I tell her and sigh. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. The system sucks, and from the looks of this woman’s desk—which holds frame after frame of family photos with her, a husband, and two kids—there’s just no way she could truly understand.
“You could adopt privately.”
“If I won the lottery, maybe, and even then two parents are given priority.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I know. It seems I have wasted both your time and mine. I’ll just be going,” I tell her, already getting up. I turn my back to her, gathering up my coat and purse that I hung on the back of my chair. Today has been fucked up. I’m going to need a drink. Hell, maybe a lot of them.
“There is another possibility,” I hear the woman say.
I turn around to look at her. I don’t know what she’s about to suggest, but I’m pretty sure I’ve exhausted all avenues here. If I want to be a parent, I think it’s getting clearer and clearer I have limited options. Heck, even in-vitro will cost more than I make for the entire year with my salary. Nope. It’s looking like I either go back to Tommy and do things his way—a choice I’d rather die than do—or I could go out to a bar and hook up with random strangers until I get lucky in more ways than one. Isn’t that a heartwarming story to tell my son or daughter about the way they were conceived? I could make a children’s book about it: how I became a whore trying to stick a freaking bun in my oven.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You could take classes to become a foster parent.”
“A foster parent?”
“Yes. After you’ve been cleared, children that have been removed from homes could be placed with you temporarily while the courts work through what’s going on with their parents.”
“So they would be taken and given back to their parents eventually?”
“In some cases. In others, they’ve been placed for adoption.”
“And then I still would be on the outside looking in?”
“Ms. Graham…”
“I think I need to go home and think things over. Thank you for your help today. It’s sadly been very enlightening,” I tell her, leaving and not bothering to look back.
It’s ridiculous, the regulations and the hoops you have to jump through just to give a child a home. It’s not like I’m even asking for a baby; I knew those children would be the ones who would get adopted the easiest. I was hoping to take a child in who was like me when Ida Sue rescued me.
I walk outside and the heat hits me immediately. It has to be a hundred degrees today. Someone forgot to tell Mother Nature it’s fall. The stifling heat wraps around me, which isn’t good. After the day I’ve had, breathing is a chore. The heat just makes it worse. It seems to suffocate me. The smart thing to do would be to go home, but that’s not going to happen. The very last thing I want to do is go home and be alone. Being alone is not an option.
Screw it. I’ll go to Barney’s. Even if I don’t get up my nerve to go home with a potential sperm producer, I’ll be so drunk I won’t feel like the failure I am. With my mind made up, I head toward my favorite bar. I don’t even care that it’s early. What’s that saying? It’s five o’clock somewhere? Yeah, that sounds about right.
CHAPTER 10
WHITE
“You’re late.”
“For what? You do know you’re in my apartment and not yours, right?” Kayla asks, walking through the door. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt, a matching blazer over it, and small heels on her feet. She looks good, but strange. This is not her usual work gear. She goes for comfort when working with the kids. In fact, this whole outfit doesn’t look like Kayla; it’s too off-putting and severe. There’s nothing warm about it, especially the way she has her hair tightly pinned to the back of her head.
“Why are you dressed like you’ve been to a funeral?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“It’s called a business suit. Why did you break into my apartment again? This is getting to be a habit with you.”
“I’m cooking you dinner.”
“You’re forgiven,” she says with a heartfelt sigh as she walks into the kitchen where I’m at. “What are we eating?”
“Chicken stir-fry.”
“Yummy.”
“You know it. Now tell me why you’re dressed like the scary female lawyer who just left Attica?”
She groans as she takes a seat at the bar, unbuttoning the blazer she’s wearing. That might have been good, except underneath is just more black, and it’s a fucking turtleneck sweater. Is she trying to give herself heat stroke? I don’t care if it is fall; that outfit seems to make it entirely feasible.
“I had a meeting after school. I thought it would be to my best advantage to look all businesslike and dignified.”
"Well, you look something, alright. Did you scare the kids in your class?"
"No. God, you're such an ass. There's nothing wrong with this outfit."
"Not if you're a mortician," I quip, only not really kidding. I should do my civic duty and burn this getup when she takes it off.
"Asshole, I'm in no mood to listen to you go on about my clothes as if you're Tim Gunn."
"Tim who?"
"Never mind. It's best for your manhood that you don't know that answer."
"Whatever. You smell like alcohol. Are you drinking? It's barely five thirty!"
"Gee, Mom, I didn't realize there was a no-drinking-during-daylight-hours rule."
"There's not, normally. But you're Kayla."
“What's that mean?" she huffs, and I should sense danger here, but I can't seem to stop myself.
"Buttercup, you never drink."
"That's not true. We've shared beers together plenty of times."
"True, but watching the big game on television, or sharing a beer over a movie, is a lot different than you getting off work and drinking."
"Whatever," she says, throwing my favorite word back at me.
"Talk to me, honey," I urge her because she's not looking me in the eye. There's more going on here than I know and I don't like it.
She leans back against her chair with a sigh. For a minute, I think she might dodge me again. I'm starting to think I should ease up and stop pushing her. She stares at the wall across from me for a minute and I see something in her eyes that worries me.
"I had a meeting with Child and Family Services."
"Child and what?" I ask, stirring the food in the skillet to make sure the veggies don't burn. I don't cook often, but this is one of the things I make that I know makes Kayla happy.
"It's the state agency that's over the adoption center."
"Adoption?"
"Yeah. I thought I'd check things out a little more. I filled out paperwork there a while back and I hadn't really followed up on
it."
"Are you seriously considering it?"
"I was."
"Was?"
"Well, it seemed like the perfect answer. I don't need a man for it. I'd be able to help a child and give them a home, much like your mom did for me."
"True, but now you've changed your mind?"
"Not really. They kind of changed it for me."
"What do you mean?"
"Adoption is nearly impossible. Unless you're richer than God, or happily married and have the perfect home life."
"Ah. I get it. They don't want single parents adopting?"
"Not at all. Or at least, not unless it's a last resort. The system is so broken, White."
"I can't argue there, Buttercup. So what are you going to do?"
"Give up?"
"That doesn't sound like the Kayla I know and love."
"Well, that's how I feel. At least right now."
She looks so sad and alone that I can't stop myself from walking around and standing beside her. I pull her up on her feet and her pretty brown eyes look up at me, full of sadness. I'm frozen by them for a minute. They're a sweet, deep brown color, and I can see just a hint of another color.
"Your eyes have green in them," I tell her without even realizing it. My fingers move up and down on her soft cheek.
"Yeah, I guess. They're boring."
"They're beautiful," I tell her honestly. I bend down to kiss her forehead. "I have an idea."
"What's that?" she asks and I reach up to unpin her hair. It takes me a minute to find all of the clasps, but soon her brown hair is falling down around her shoulders. Much better.
"How about you go get comfortable. I'll dish you up a plate of the best stir-fry you've ever had in your life—"
"You're so modest," she interrupts and I smile.
"And when you come back, we'll kick it in front of the television and I'll let you watch one of those horrible movies you love."
"You're joking?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Hmm... Notting Hill?"
"Kill me now. Seriously?"
"I love that movie."
"Fine,” I groan jokingly because I already knew what she would pick. “Notting Hill it is, but after that we're watching my man Vin Diesel. I'll need to refuel up on my man points."